


Pictures of Lily

by TheNightComesDown



Category: The Who (Band)
Genre: 1970s, Classic Rock, F/M, The Who - Freeform, The Who AU, The Who Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 04:42:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18985504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNightComesDown/pseuds/TheNightComesDown
Summary: After breaking out as a film star in Tommy, Roger Daltrey finds himself in a love affair with American beauty and popular actress, Lily DeLane.





	Pictures of Lily

**Author's Note:**

> As requested by a Tumblr anon, here's the beginning of my fic about Roger and his also-famous love interest. In this case, a high-profile American film star.
> 
> The character's name, Lily DeLane, is inspired by both the Who song "Pictures of Lily", and the studio used to record some of their (and many other famous groups') music, De Lane Lea Studios in Soho. 
> 
> All characters are either fictional depictions of real people (i.e. The Who members), or entirely fictional.

As soon as Roger’s fist connected with his co-star’s jaw, he felt the skin of his knuckles tear open. The painful sting and the ooze of blood down his fingers was worth it, however, because the jackass on the receiving end of Roger’s punch hit the ground hard enough to knock some sense into him. If he was going to be disrespectful of his female cast members, he’d have Roger Daltrey, who was known to be hot-headed and had never lost a fight, to contend with.

“‘No’ means no, Jim,” Roger seethed, clenching his bleeding fist tightly at his side. “If you can’t get that through your thick skull, we’re going to keep having problems, mate.” The man clutched his jaw, which was beginning to bruise an ugly black-purple. _If I’m lucky, maybe he’ll have to have it wired shut for a month,_ Roger thought. _That ought to keep him from saying whatever perverted comment comes to his mind._

“What’s happened here?” the film’s director inquired, walking onto the set after having stepped away to make a phone call. When he saw one of the stars of his film on the floor, the director sighed heavily and lowered his face into his hands. “Daltrey…” he began, his voice sounding strained, “we’ve talked about this—” 

“He was just looking out for me,” Lily, the film’s raven-haired, American leading lady defended. She stepped out from behind her security detail, who had been watching from the sidelines, but hadn’t been quite close enough to hear the conversation in question. “Roger asked Jim to apologize for being inappropriate towards me, and Jim didn’t take that so well.” 

“Told him to keep his fucking hands to ‘imself,” Roger corrected, feeling the blood rise in his face as he explained the situation. “That wanker made a pass at Miss DeLane, after she’s repeatedly turned him down. He touched her arse, called her a tease, and said she shouldn’t be wearing such a short skirt if she didn’t want people to think she’s a—” Roger stopped himself, not wanting to repeat the word and further insult his co-star. Lily stared at Jim, still cradling his jaw, with a look of disdain. 

“A whore,” she finished, pouting her ruby red lips. Roger’s dark eyes met hers, his rage evident. Ever so slightly, Lily shook her head, asking him to stand down, just this once. Filming was already behind schedule, and all she wanted was to wrap the film so she could return to her home in Los Angeles for the holiday. 

The director, who had absolutely had it with the testosterone-fuelled arguments that had been plaguing the cast, looked up towards the sky and said a silent prayer. His assistant, the young woman clutching a clipboard beside him, fished a cigarette from her bag and passed it, as well as a book of matches, to him. 

“I swear to God, I’m going to recast this film if I see so much as another dirty look between you two,” he warned, his eyes flickering between Roger and Jim, whose own assistant had finally helped him to his feet. “This is a Hollywood picture, not a pissing contest.” The balding man lit the end of his cigarette and took a long drag before stomping off to deal with an issue the cameraman had brought to his attention. He had bigger issues to deal with than a dispute over a woman, even if that woman was Lily DeLane, the doe-eyed sweetheart who had entranced America over the past three years. No man could keep his eyes off her, and no woman could help but be jealous of her natural beauty and talent on screen. This made working with her a difficult task, one that even a skilled director could become frustrated by. 

A lanky PA, likely the nephew of some producer, scurried onset with an ice pack for Jim, who accepted it with a nasty glare. As though the assistant were inconveniencing him with his presence, Jim shoved past the young man and barked at one of the PA’s from the catering department with a request for a whisky sour. As soon as he was out of sight, Lily was at Roger’s side. 

“Rog, you didn’t have to do that,” she said gently, reaching for his injured hand. He yanked his arm away and stepped back, creating distance between their bodies. His intention hadn’t been to reject her, but the look of hurt in her eyes made it clear that he had done so anyway. 

“Not here,” he cautioned, glancing back towards Jim’s trailer. “If he catches wind of _anything_ happening between you and I, he’ll blow everything out of proportion. He’ll make a huge stink, and the director will cut me loose.” Lily let her hand drop to her side, and nodded sullenly; it wasn’t often someone turned her affections down. 

“When can we be together, then?” she inquired, her tone bordering on angry. “Am I just supposed to wait around all night for you to show up at my door, like some stupid little girl?” Her lower lip began to tremble, and she turned away from Roger quickly, not wanting him to see her cry. 

“You’re not stupid.” Roger sounded tender and apologetic, something he’d never been accused of being before. “Lil, you know I like you. You know I want to be with you. I just can’t jeopardize this – for either of us.” She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, ignoring him even though she knew he was right. The blonde, curly haired Englishman had won her heart almost without trying, and she hated that his words had such sway over her. If she had her way, they’d be sharing a trailer, the director and Jim be damned. 

“Please, love,” he begged softly, “just a few more weeks. It’ll fly by, I promise, and then we can go back to London, and laze around my flat all day, if you want.” Roger checked around for any remaining crewmembers that might be loitering before moving closer. “We’ll drink expensive champagne, and make love on the rooftop garden ‘til the sun comes up,” he whispered, placing a kiss on the exposed skin above the zipper of her dress; a shiver ran down Lily’s spine at his touch; his hand was hot. 

“Let’s get a hotel, Rog, just for tonight,” she suggested, looking up at him from beneath her thick lashes. “No one will miss us if we’re back before roll call in the morning.” The idea of getting her alone instantly appealed to Roger, and the hunger in his eyes told her as much, but he was still concerned about the possibility of their relationship getting out to the crew. 

Lily knew as well as he did the consequences of such a thing – their director was strict about professionalism amongst his cast, and wouldn’t hesitate to fire either of them if he thought it was becoming an issue. Maybe though, she hoped, if she batted her lashes and pouted her lips in just the right way, she might convince Roger to take her up on the offer of a night at the lavish uptown hotel frequented by New York’s elite. Surely, a man of Roger’s fame and fortune couldn’t turn that down? 

“Two days,” he promised, squeezing her hand reassuringly. “On Friday, we’ll go out to dinner, just you and I, and then we can spend the weekend at my mate’s flat in Greenwich Village. He’s in London for the rest of the month, so we’ll have the place to ourselves.” He drew his lower lip into his mouth, and Lily almost let out a needy whine; Roger knew exactly what he was doing to her. She reached out towards him and undid another button on his shirt, which was already showing a significant amount of his tan, toned chest. 

“Fine,” she huffed, agreeing to his terms. “Until then, I’ve got some things to attend to.” Without so much as another word, Lily turned on her heel and waltzed back to her trailer. Roger watched her go, wearing a stupid grin as though he’d just won the lottery. And really, he had; Lily DeLane was one of the most sought-after actresses in the industry at the moment, both professionally and romantically, and she’d been so kind as to give him – fresh meat in film, albeit a famous singer – the time of day. 

* * * * * 

Later that evening, Lily asked a starry-eyed PA to deliver a package to Roger: a box wrapped neatly in brown paper and a bow, about the size of a paperback, but much lighter. In the privacy of his trailer, eager with curiosity, he opened the box to find a pair of black, lacy knickers, the same ones she’d been wearing the night he’d managed to talk her into sleeping with him for the first time. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, feeling his breath catch in his throat at the memory of her stepping out of her sequined gown in his glitzy hotel room. She was as dazzling without it as she was in it, he recalled. Roger set the package aside just long enough to finish wiping the dried blood from his knuckles, which ached something fierce. Still, he had no regrets about giving Jim a piece of his mind. The only thing he felt sorry about was the extra work he’d be causing the makeup department. Jim’s swollen, purple jaw would need some real TLC before he could be seen on camera. 

As he tossed the stained cloth into the bin, Roger thanked his lucky stars for the success of _Tommy_ – the film that got him recognized by the director of the film they were both currently making. Maybe he owed Pete a letter, both to tell him how brilliant Tommy had proved to be, as well as to thank him for agreeing to lend him the flat in Greenwich Village while he was filming New York. Pete’s dalliances with some American girl he’d met on tour had led him to make the hefty purchase, and it was about to be of great benefit to Roger. 

After using the last of his energy for the day to pin Lily’s gift to the wall beside his bed, Roger stepped out of his trousers and fell back onto his cushy mattress to admire the garment. He didn’t even care whether he had been the only man to see her in those knickers or not. Exhausted and sore, Roger closed his eyes, and attempted to settle his mind for the night. Try as he might, he couldn’t get the image of Lily – that sweet, charming, glittering girl – out of his mind. 

“She’s going to ruin me,” Roger murmured.


End file.
